


i'm the fury in your head

by tenienteross (ada)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Syndicate, Brother-Sister Relationships, Established Relationship, Gen, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Jack the Ripper DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:28:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6366832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ada/pseuds/tenienteross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack has broken Jacob, and Evie and Abberline are there to pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm the fury in your head

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR JACK THE RIPPER DLC!
> 
> This is set over the course of some weeks/months after Evie rescues Jacob and how it unfolds, since it seems very clear that Jacob is left in a very bad state—not just physicaly, but emotionally. The DLC focuses on Evie's POV, but when you think about the whole mentor/apprentice falling-out... it looks so bad for Jacob :( Poor baby needs his sister. 
> 
> Just a few things: this story focuses more on the twins' relationship, but the Jacob/Freddy ship is there as an established relationship, because a) I will go down with that ship and b) I love the idea of them getting closer over the years and having that old married couple vibe. I know that real life Abberline remarried after being widowed and was probably a happy husband with a loving wife. But since Shaun doesn't mention anything about that in his database entry, I choose to ignore that specific part of historical accuracy. So let's just pretend Freddy wasn't married at all, because cheating is not something I especially dig in my ships. 
> 
> Lastly, there's a gory/graphic description of violence after the third jump. So if that makes you uncomfortable, you can skip it right away!

Evie crosses out the line again, the ink from the quill staining the piece of yellowish paper. This is her fourth attempt. She knows what she has to say, but she can’t find the right words—or any words, actually. That doesn’t change her resolution, and the idea gains strength in her mind the more she thinks about it.

She is not going back to India. Never.

Her eyes flicker from the unwritten letter to the bed on the other side of the wagon. Lying on his left side, Jacob’s body is curled up against the wall, his head half bandaged. His breathing is quiet, almost soundless. Sometimes, she can hear a faint groan coming from his mouth. Maybe it’s the pain of his wounds. Maybe it’s the nightmares. Jacob has suffered both since she found him, locked up in Lambeth’s basement. Evie feels her stomach twisting when she looks at her brother—when she realises all what Jacob has been through, how much Jack had broken him. And Evie hadn’t been there to help.

She can’t go. Not now, not ever.

Evie knows Henry will understand, and she still has hopes he’ll follow her back to London, as selfish as that is. But this time it doesn’t feel like there are any options left. Jacob needs her, as much as she needs him right now. 

She looks back down to the sheet and starts writing.

-

Two weeks later, Frederick Abberline pays a visit to the train hideout, now stationed in the outskirts of the city where unwanted visitors cannot find them. When he emerges from the door, Evie notices exhaustion has taken a severe toll on the man. Dark circles around his eyes, the skin of his face wrinkling around every corner. A permanent frown crowns his expression.

“Miss Frye,” he greets, taking his hat off. 

She serves two cups of tea on the small, rounded table that had been filled with piles of books and stacks of papers—as she had expected from Jacob, she found the train a complete mess. 

“Thank you for calling in the doctor, Frederick,” Evie says, looking distractedly at the bottom of her cup. 

Abberline sips and waves his free hand dismissively. “There is no need, Miss Frye. I assume Doctor Warren has been discreet?” 

“Yes, very much. He didn’t make questions and my brother is slowly recovering,” Evie assures him, remembering her own anxiety when the doctor had shown up in the train after she and Abberline had brought Jacob there safely. “What has happened…?”

Her hands slightly tremble. Abberline lets out a deep sigh and looks sideways. 

“Burnt. I took care of the corpse, do not worry.” Evie feels as if a great burden has been lifted from her shoulders—and she can’t help breathing out. “I have also tried to disrupt evidence and clues as much as I could without raising suspicions,” Abberline finishes, attempting to hide the discomfort he clearly feels

He is a policeman, after all—and he is breaking the law once again for them. _To protect them_ , Evie corrects herself. Still, he has been an ally to their cause and, as Jacob had explained in his letters, they had worked all those years to keep London safe—each one making use of their strengths, tools and contacts. 

Except that, at some point, Jack had happened—leaving a trail of blood and misery behind him. It had been an inside problem of the Brotherhood, their Creed. Now both Assassins and Rooks had put London’s peace at risk, those who had sworn to protect it in the shadows. It had been their mistake—yet Abberline seems to be paying a price too high for his assistance. 

Evie massages the bridge of her nose, eyes closed and voice filled with guilt. “I am so sorry, Frederick. You shouldn’t have been dragged into all this.”

The inspector leans on the back of his chair, hands crossed over his lap. His eyes twinkle, his lips form a thin line. There’s weariness and worry all over his face, and Evie thinks he probably hasn’t slept well since Lambeth.

She hasn’t either.

“I shouldn’t have, but I had no choice in the matter,” he pauses, letting his thoughts sink in and become a worded sentence. “This was your responsibility, but not your fault, Miss Frye. Nor Jacob. Jack was a madman, and fortunately you ended his life before he was able to do even more harm.”

Evie nods agreeingly, drinking the remaining tea from her cup. She puts down the china on the table. “I will help you clean up everything. We need to take back the Rooks and—”

Abberline makes a gesture, his voice interrupting her. “Do not concern yourself with that now, Evie. You and Jacob need to rest and heal,” Abberline says in a commanding tone. “This is Scotland Yard’s work, so I will take care of everything.”

He trails off and his eyes flicker, staring at her. He looks troubled, and she realises he is fiddling with his fingers nervously. 

“How… how is Jacob?” Abberline finally asks, and his tone becomes much softer. 

Evie lowers her glance, focusing on the leaves of her tea. “His wounds are better, although doctor Warren prescribed complete rest for now. Sight in his left eye is still blurry, but the doctor said he will recover in a few weeks or months,” she explains, and tries to put on a little smile. “However, it will take time to… to heal. I have decided to stay, to take care of him.”

“I think that is excellent news,” Abberline says approvingly, letting go of the tension his body has built up. “He needs you, Miss Frye.” 

Now the corner of her mouth twitches up in a genuine, caring smile. “He needs you too, Frederick.”

-

The following day, Abberline returns to the train hideout. This time, Evie tells him Jacob is already awake and shetimely disappears in the next wagon where they used to have a sort of pub filled with people. When he is left alone, Abberline starts to feel shudders all over his spine—his fingers play anxiously with the brim of the hat he had been wearing. He hasn’t seen Jacob since the cell in Lambeth, since his sister and he took him back to the safety of the train after freeing him. Jacob had been barely conscious then—but the images of him, bloodied and hurt, haunt Abberline every day.

He had lost hope of finding Jacob alive until Evie arrived—and still, he had been wary. One month had passed. One month of searching without finding any trace, thinking he had lost Jacob to the Ripper. Jacob had been vague with all the details about what had happened—about the student gone rogue, though he had filled him in, guaranteeing Abberline this concerned the Assassins and he did not want to put any policemen in more danger. The murders had started shortly after that conversation—and Jacob disappeared all of a sudden. His death at the hands of Jack had seemed like the only reasonable conclusion. 

Abberline doesn’t know whether what happened to him was better or worse than death, but he selfishly thanks God that Jacob is alive—even if he is not yet well. 

He closes the distance and opens the door quietly, moving from one wagon to the next. He remembers the place—every detail, every piece of furniture. He cherishes the memories from this place. In the past, Jacob had been reluctant to sleep there because it had been Evie’s room. Years after, he gave in and the wagon became his bedroom and study—changing into an utter mess of a place in a short time: unmade bed, cinders from the fireplace spread across the red carpet, books piled up in every corner, paper balls lying on the floor, dirty glasses (usually two) all over the shelves and desk. But it had had a certain charm—Jacob’s distinct signature.

This time is very similar. A bit dustier, even though it’s clear Evie has tried to tidy things up a little. Abberline’s eyes sweep the room, warm from the fire that crackles inside the hearth. He catches a glimpse of dark hair on the armchair in front of the bed. Jacob sits there, his legs wide apart and a newspaper resting on his lap. His eyelid is closed, and Abberline hears the soft humming from his respiration. He looks strangely at peace. 

It could have been a familiar, pleasant vision. However, the bandages are a reminder of what has happened. Jacob’s left eye and side are wrapped in white, clean cloth. It smells aseptic, a memento of all the injuries he suffers.

Abberline thinks of leaving for a split-second—after all, Jacob needs rest and waking him up seems even cruel. Then he dismisses the idea rapidly, because he wants to see him, take his hand and tell him everything will get better. Words he also needs to repeat to himself every day, and wants them to be true badly. 

His feet move forward, hesitant and treading carefully—the thump of his shoes is almost noiseless on the thick carpet. He doesn’t want to startle Jacob. As he kneels beside him, Abberline takes a few seconds to study his face. There’s an ugly bruise on his right cheek, thin cuts that can’t be hidden by the bandages. Abberline knows for a fact that it had not been in his power to prevent Jacob’s abduction—he damn well knows, yet he can’t help a sting of blame as he gazes at the man, knowing he had been kept captive for one month under his watch. 

Abberline sucks in a sharp breath and his fingers reach for Jacob’s hand, which is resting on the arm of the blue armchair. He interweaves their hands together, his still covered by gloves. 

He wants to whisper his name, but Jacob looks so untroubled, so calm. From what Evie has told him, Jacob hasn’t had a day free of nightmares and haunting dreams since Lambeth—he deserves this brief moment of repose without anyone disturbing him. Instead, he lightly grazes the fingertips of Jacob’s hand with his lips, eyes shut. 

Then the hand twitches and Jacob’s soft snoring comes to an end. 

“Freddy?” Jacob muffles, half yawning. There’s a lopsided smile on his mouth, and Abberline can’t hold back a loving grin at the sight. 

“In the flesh,” he answers, tightening his grip on Jacob’s hand. “I am sorry it took me so long.”

His words refer to the past weeks—when he has been busy hiding evidence and boycotting his own constables to prevent any leak on Jack the Ripper’s case. But deep down, he also wants to apologise for failing to help ( _save_ ) him in the first place. 

Jacob nods knowingly and instead of talking, he just leans in, pulling Abberline in closer. Their foreheads touch, and he can feel Jacob’s breath against his mouth. God, he has missed it _so much_. Cupping Frederick’s neck, Jacob stares at him and opens his lips—as if he wants to confess something. Maybe an apology too, maybe a simple ‘thank you’. It doesn’t matter. 

They blend in a warm embrace, Jacob’s head buried in the crook of his neck as Abberline drapes his arms around him.

Jacob clenches his hands on the back of Abberline’s coat. There’s the slightest quiver coming from him, a muted sob against his neck—and then Frederick realises he has never seen or heard Jacob cry. It’s gut-wrenching, but he doesn’t raise his voice to whisper platitudes. 

Holding him tighter, Abberline runs his fingers through Jacob’s hair and plants a soft kiss on his bandaged temple.

-

There is pain, a sense of horror lingering in every corner. He looks around him, only to find himself surrounded by darkness. The cold takes hold of his aching bones, and he feels the sudden warmth of an unknown breath behind him, exhaling against his nape.

He turns around and there’s nothing. 

Jacob fumbles in the shadows, his breath becomes more and more agitated by the second. There’s a hunter, and this time he is the prey. He goes around a corner—a dim spark shines in the dark, as a lighthouse that calls to him. His legs start to run and then he notices a small silhouette in the middle of the street.

It’s a child. A scrawny, dirty-looking child of pale skin and green eyes. Jacob recognises him.

“Jack,” he hisses, falling on his knees—defeated. He grabs the boy by the shoulders and shakes him. “Jack, I failed you.”

The child’s lips draw a sinister smile and when he speaks, it is not the voice of a little boy. It’s the Ripper’s.

“And you shall pay, Jacob,” he utters, a pair hands with tiny fingers cupping each side of his head. “I may be dead, but you shall pay for what you did. I will rip you from the inside, _Jacob_ ,” the boy cackles in a terrifying laugh.

Jacob tries to yell at him, feeling the rush of panic taking over his mind.

Then he feels it. A knife plunges through his chest—once, twice, thrice. Jack screams and buries the rusted blade inside Jacob’s flesh repeatedly, pulling him by the hair with violence. A river of crimson red pours from his chest—too much blood, there’s _so much blood_. He calls Evie’s name, then Freddy—but there’s a knot in his throat and no sound comes from his mouth. 

He can feel the pond of blood under his legs, wet and sticky, and Jack lays him down—screaming, cackling, crying, and it’s maddening. The boy looks down at him, sitting beside the pond. There’s a exhilarating expression on his face, his green eyes now red and wide open as he stares at Jacob viciously, licking his lips. 

He _is_ proud of his job. 

“Jacob!” A distant echo yells, and he senses his body being shaken by invisible hands. But his gaze is fixed on Jack’s disturbing, twisted face. Jack retrieves the knife and licks the blood off the blade in ecstasy. There’s a pleased look on the boy’s face and Jacob wants to scream, to kill him, to die. 

The echo calls him again, and now he notices it’s a female voice. “Evie…” 

He opens his eyes (realising they were closed for the first time) and all of a sudden, his body is aching and cold. His left eye is still partially blind, only a blur of whiteness—the compress wrapped against his skull is a constant pressure. He’s bathed in sweat, each of his limbs trembling—and it’s like his lungs haven’t breathed for a long time, and Jacob starts to gasp like a fish out of the water. 

Hands take him by the shoulders, reaching for his cheeks and hair. He sees her now—it’s Evie’s features. He recognises her immediately and his body welcomes air once more. Still struggling to breath, he covers the hand that Evie has placed on his cheek with his own fingers.

“I’m here, Jacob. It was a nightmare, that’s all,” she repeats warmingly, caressing his brother’s wet hair as she sits on the edge of the bed.

They are on the train, _of course_ —it had been a bad dream. A really, really horrific dream. Not the first, although this has been one of the worst he can remember. He’s still shaking uncontrollably and his sister embraces him, making his half body get up from the mattress. Jacob buries his face in her neck, still trying to catch some breath. Evie strokes his head, rocking their bodies softly—the same motion she had repeated so many times a long ago, when they were little children and Jacob had been sick. 

He restrains the urge to cry, to _scream_ , and mumbles, “I thought… Evie. It was so real, I…” he mutters distressingly. 

“Hush, do not worry,” she comforts him, drawing circles over the skin of his neck. “I’m here with you, Jacob. I’ll always be, alright?” She says, planting a light kiss on the top of his head. 

Jacob tightens the hug, his eyelids closed firmly. The images of the dream are still vivid, and he can’t stop shuddering even if he wants to calm down. “Promised?” 

It’s more of a plea than a question—and Jacob clings to her in every sense. Her answer is a comforting sound. 

“Promised.”

-

A pale light comes from the window, the last remaining rays of sunshine in the evening piercing through the dirty glass. The room hasn’t changed a bit since both their last visits, and Jacob can’t help but trace with his eyes every step, every hit he took from Jack between those walls. There is furniture and papers littered all over the place, signs of fighting on the floor and surroundings. He takes a look around, kneeling beside a pile a dusty books as he begins to check them.

He remembers all the peaceful evenings and nights he has spent here. Emmett had stayed once, one of those evening lessons where he had tried to teach him more about the Brotherhood—though, usually, he preferred to keep the boy out of Whitechapel’s streets as much as possible. Other nights he had been alone, reading letters from Evie. But mostly, he has spent his nights in Whitechapel in the company of Freddy—which always brings a smile to his lips.

Now, however, he glances at the same walls and it’s different. The images of that autumn night linger in every corner and Jack’s presence dwells in the room—and in his head. He knows he must go on and leave it all behind him. But he hears Jack’s voice and laughter like an echo at the back of his head—and he remembers the child he rescued from Lambeth. A sad and lonely boy he had taken under his care—a boy he ruined forever. 

A voice he is not sure he will ever be able to shut down.

It makes him think of Emmett, and Jacob is _scared_ of the implications—that ever present fear that has followed him everywhere. He can’t help a tired sigh, which Evie notices from the other side of the room. 

She stops rustling through the wardrobe and turns to him hurriedly. “Are you sure you want to do this, Jacob?” She asks, worry painted in her tone.

“It’s just a bit of cleaning, Evie. I’ll be fine,” he reassures her with a smile, shrugging and standing up. 

She gives him a skeptic look, knitting her eyebrows together in a frown. Her mind is probably coming up with a thousand reasons why he should not be here—but she remains silent and continues her task, letting out a defeated sigh. 

Jacob mimics her and focuses on the bookshelves, trying to clean some of the dust off the wooden pieces of furniture. Minutes go by, and his mind is so concentrated on putting back the books that Evie’s voice startles him a little. 

“You know. This reminds of… of the old days,” she begins, her gaze deeply lost in past memories. “When Granny had us clean the whole house and we would make such a fuss about it.”

Jacob chuckles—he does remember those afternoons. Their grandmother had been a loving woman who had had to deal with a pair of devilish twins, as their neighbours used to call them. 

“And then she would ground us so we couldn’t leave the house, after threatening to never bake a pie again,” he adds, picturing the angry face the old woman made every time she used that trick on them. “Fondest memory I have about good old Granny.”

Evie closes the wardrobe and walks towards him, carrying a few books. “Well, she always had a pie ready when we finished the chores,” she says affectionately, curving her lips in a soft smile. 

The wrinkles around her mouth and eyes make her look like a younger version of their grandmother, or at least Jacob can see the similarities for a second. They both share those stern but caring eyes that make you feel better, somehow. Maybe their mother had them too. 

“That she did,” he answers, looking at Evie with tenderness. 

He may have doubts and a constant lack of confidence about his role as a father, but Jacob is sure of one thing: Emmett could not ask for a better aunt, nor he for a better sister. 

Evie finishes arranging different books in one the shelves and stays there quietly, standing beside him. He’s about to ask her what is bothering her when she breaks the silence, clearing her throat.

“Jacob, I was thinking… Would like to go back to Crawley?” Her voice wavers, as if she were afraid of his answer. “Inspector Abberline told me you had sent Emmett there with Agnes temporarily. He should come too. We could spend some weeks, far… from here.” 

It is a tempting offer. He hasn’t gone back there since the day they left for Croydon with George Westhouse, even though Evie and him are the rightful heirs of the Frye house in the town. Jacob is also sure he will never hear the end of it once he meets Agnes back—by now she must have realised that what he meant by ‘house in Crawley’ was actually ‘abandoned and _ruined_ house in Crawley’. He smiles at the thought and misses Agnes’ loud talking. 

He wants to go, definitely, and the realisation surprises him even more. 

“I could use the quiet, yes,” he nods, dusting his hands off. “And the lad is too eager to meet his favourite auntie already,” Jacob adds, grinning like he used to. 

Evie chuckles and beams a radiant smile at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Then a mischievous smirk crooks her lips. “I look forward to meeting him too. I shall make a list of every embarrassing story I can remember about his dearest father and tell him. In detail. Like that time when we were twelve and you wet the bed...”

“ _Evie_ ,” Jacob whines, tilting his head, and suddenly he feels twenty years younger, brother and sister bickering at each other again. The difference? There is no frustration between them now. Just two siblings who love each other and who _love_ to annoy each other. “And here I was so happy to have you in England. Don’t make me send you back to India, sister,” he mocks a threat, a happy smile on his lips. 

Because she is with him again, and he knows there won’t be any more goodbyes. 

Evie (the same experienced, no-nonsense, grown-up, Master Assassin Evie) sticks her tongue out at him, giving him a slight shove on the shoulder. “Too late, dearest brother. Henry’s also coming back.”

And she giggles—and it also looks like she’s twenty years old again. As if they have never been separated for so long. For _too_ long.

Jacob gives up on the bookshelf and puts an arm around her sister, pulling her in closer. “Ah, Greenie. I’ve missed him dearly. He’s so much nicer and agreeable than you,” he jokes and Evie answers by elbowing him in the stomach. 

Jacob laughs genuinely—and it’s the first time since Jack. It feels like taking off a burden from him, although he knows the baggage is bigger and a simple laugh cannot heal everything. 

But Evie’s there, at his side, tucking her head in the curve of his shoulder. Her arm wraps his back and he can feel once again that familiar and warm feeling he has lacked in her absence—he’s home now. And Jack’s voice is not so loud, for once. 

He will need time to recover, all of them. But _this_ —this is a good start and Jacob feels almost optimistic. 

Turning his face, he kisses her sister on the forehead and the words come easily to his mouth. “Thank you, Evie.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have to headcanon that Emmett/Jacob's child, who should be around 15 (or older?) during 1888, is not present in the DLC whatsoever because his father sent him somewhere far from where Jack was, to keep him away from danger. Crawley seemed like a good idea, and I also don't want anything bad happening to Agnes, Nigel & co, so I thought: hey, maybe they hid the train somewhere and Jacob sent them all to Crawley before Jack's killing spree? It's already too bad he took over the Rooks :(
> 
> And I also headcanon that the child was the result of a one-night stand (probably before Jacob left for India) and the mother died in childbirth or something similar. I find it really difficult to believe that, after all what happens in the DLC, there's absolutely no mention of a partner/wife, even if it'd have made sense because, hey, Jacob's been missing (and the child must have been a bit grown-up by then because Lydia is born just five years later, if I remember correctly). 
> 
> Anyway, I like that Ubisoft has left that a bit in the dark and I hope they keep it like that, because I don't want a Connor 2.0 situation. But I wanted to clarify my ideas for this fic, so that it makes a bit more sense. If you're still here, thanks for reading the fic AND my ramblings <3


End file.
